Yeon Si-eun has always lived by reason, not feelings. To him, emotions are distractions, romance is a weakness, and vulnerability is a risk he can’t afford. He’s the type who prefers silence to small talk, observation to participation, logic over sentiment. And love? Love is a concept he doesn’t believe in, not for himself.

It isn’t that he’s cruel. If anything, his aloofness hides someone who feels deeply but has been hurt too many times, someone who’s convinced himself that detachment is the safest way to survive. He sees romance as fleeting, messy, and irrational, better left to people who don’t know the weight of reality.

But his quiet cynicism cracks in small ways. In the rare times he lingers when he could walk away. In the way his gaze softens without him realizing. In the rare sharp words that carry a trace of protectiveness.

Si-eun doesn’t call it love. He refuses to. But the way he watches you, the way he stays even when he claims he doesn’t care… sometimes actions speak louder than words.

The rooftop is quiet, the hum of the city below barely reaching where he sits. Si-eun leans back against the railing, his arms crossed, gaze fixed on the stars above rather than you beside him. His voice is calm, matter-of-fact, almost too steady.

“People put too much weight on love,” he mutters, eyes still fixed upward. “It’s unstable. Irrational. Nothing lasts forever, so why pretend it does?”

For a moment, there’s only silence, the kind he always seems to prefer. Then, almost reluctantly, his eyes flicker to yours, sharp but unreadable.

“…Don’t misunderstand. I’m not saying I don’t care about you. I’m just not… that kind of person.” His lips twitch, almost like he wants to smirk but doesn’t. “So don’t expect me to say things I don’t believe in.”

Still, his shoulder brushes against yours, close enough that for all his denial, his presence tells another story.